


¡Para vos, papá!

by dame5



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Champions League, Chile National Team, Copa América 2015, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Homophobic Language, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, Love, M/M, Paris Saint-Germain, Paris Saint-Germain F.C., Strained Relationships, Team Bonding, Uruguay National Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 09:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13292172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dame5/pseuds/dame5
Summary: “The things he says…he’s just scared. Scared you’re throwing away valuable football playing years. This career is cruel Edi, as you already know. Look at me when I’m taking to you—” Nando gives a sharp tug at his jacket sleeve. “You’re taking a big risk with PSG.” Nando looks at Edinson with his wild black eyes and strains them, making the creases around his eyes more noticeable. “You’re giving them your all, but they have not kept their half of the bargain like they promised. Luis is an old-timer and he’s seen and heard it all happen…and he’s scared, Edi. The time and sacrifice you’re putting in. You’re never going to get it back.”





	¡Para vos, papá!

They're all gathered in the dressing room, stretching and talking nervously to kill the time. PSG is set to compete against Malmö FF tonight, and they’re given the five minute warning to get ready to make their way to the tunnel.

“ _Edi_ —” Zlatan taps the back of Edinson’s head with a playful affection. An affection that wasn’t there before. At least not two seasons ago. “I heard about your father. They’re letting him go today?”

Edinson finds it in him to give Zlatan a smile.

“Yeah…it’s his first offense…so they’re setting him free. He’s home now, actually. My brother Christian just texted me,” Edinson’s hand clenches around his phone, and he thinks about reading that text again to assuage his disbelief. “They’ll be watching us tonight.” He smiles while he puts it away with the rest of his belongings.

“Your father will have another reason to celebrate when we win tonight.” Zlatan drapes one arm over his shoulder to pull him close.

Edinson doesn’t want to talk about his father anymore. Nando, his half-brother, made him promise to avoid reading the news, as many were infuriated—claiming that serving a three-month prison sentence for taking the life of a young man while driving intoxicated wasn’t a harsh enough punishment. He sniffs and runs his hand under his nose as he feels a droplet tricking down. He rarely gets sick. The last few months, however, have been loaded with an unusual amount of stress that he wouldn’t be surprised if he came down with something soon. Another reason to up his Vitamin C intake.

He remembers an argument he had with his father three months ago, just one week before he rejoined his  _Celeste_  teammates to train for the Copa América. And for a reason he was never able to understand, with Luis it was always extremes. He would make his love felt like no one else, but he also knew how to hurt him the most. Since he’s joined Paris Saint-Germain, it seemed that matters got worse between them.

Some of his father’s most hurtful phrases replay like obsessive waves coming undone over the shoreline of his conscious mind:

_You know my dream is to see you playing for clubs like Juventus. Like Real Madrid._

_I’m not saying Saint-Germain is a shit team, Edi. I’m saying it just doesn’t have the stamina to win bigger titles. Is that what you want? To settle for mediocrity?_

_All you have won are just domestic trophies. That’s nice—but you haven’t won major titles, like a Champions League cup._

_It makes perfect sense for Blanc to sacrifice you. Zlatan is a pure striker. He’s the stronger one. Where else do you expect Blanc to put him?_

He shakes his head and wrings his hands nervously. These are not the kind of thoughts he wants to have just minutes before a Champions League match. He thinks back to just hours earlier when he sat idling in the car with Nando:

“Luis  _loves_  you Edi. You’re the best thing in life that’s ever happened to him.” Nando places his hand over his shoulder. “He actually said that to me a few years ago.” He tilts his head forward, searching for his eyes so he could drive his point. “I know he doesn’t show it to you, but he’s prouder than a peacock when he talks about you to others.  _Trust_  me. I’ve  _seen_  it.”

Edinson turns to look outside the window of his car, and his eyes follow a couple of sparrows flitting by like they didn’t have a care in the world.

“The things he says…he’s just scared. Scared you’re throwing away valuable football playing years. This career is cruel Edi, as you already know.  _Look_  at me when I’m taking to you—” Nando gives a sharp tug at his jacket sleeve. “You’re taking a big risk with PSG.” Nando looks at Edinson with his wild black eyes and strains them, making the creases around his eyes more noticeable. “You’re giving them your all, but they have not kept their half of the bargain like they promised. Luis is an old-timer and he’s seen and heard it all happen…and he’s scared, Edi. The time and sacrifice you’re putting in. You’re never going to get it back.”

Edinson unfastens his seatbelt and positions himself to pull on the handle to open the car door. He looks ahead before he responds.

“I want nothing more than to win a Champions League trophy with this team. If that dream doesn’t materialize…then my only consolation will be that I can truly say I did everything I could, Nando. Some dreams don’t come true. But I really think what keeps people alive is their  _faith_ in what they believe in.” He runs his tongue on the side of his cheek as if he’s searching for what to say next. “It’s my faith in my dreams that fuels me to work hard to make them come true.”

He opens the door and sets one foot down on the concrete before he turns to Nando.

“There’s a reason why this club’s catch phrase is  _Rêvons_   _Plus_   _Grand_. We don’t just dream big. Our dreams are bigger than everyone else’s and I identify with this kind of ambition and attitude.” He licks his lips briefly lowering his eyes before he continues. “I was not supposed to make it, Nando. Nobody. Not even  _mamá_  imagined I would get this far.” He exhales sharply and gives Nando a smile. “I believe this is the year it will happen.”

Nando throws an arm around him, pulling him close enough to kiss the crown of his head.

“Hoy todos estamos con vos, hermano. Suerte y  _mucha_  fuerza Edi.” [Today we are all with you, brother. Good luck and strength to you, Edi.]

As he gets out of the car, he thinks about the last thing his father told him on his very last visit while he was in prison.

_Edi. Edi. Edi. Listen to me…listen to your father. If you can play in your preferred position…and as long as you’re happy…then I’ll be happy._

_I know you’re unhappy right now. You keep promising me it will clear up and things will get better, but it’s been two years._

_All I want for you hijo mio, is to be happy._

The closest thing to a blessing of approval he ever got from his father were backhanded compliments. Or his silence. A silence that was comforting, or maddening. Depending on the situation.

The one minute warning is announced in the dressing room and he turns to Zlatan.

“I meant to ask you, Ibra…how does it feel to compete against your former club?”

Zlatan retracts his arm and Edinson observes him as he shrugs with cold disinterest. The corners of his lips tug downwards into a frown.

“It’s where I got my start…but they took advantage of me thinking I was a stupid kid from the ghetto. Zlatan does not forgive things like that.”

Edinson looks down and nods. He knew what it was like to be sold dreams and illusions by agents and managers who might as well be snake oil sales men.

“It’s good that you bring this up. It makes me angry. And I play best when I’m angry.” Zlatan slaps his backside. “Shall we?” He motions with his head as they all start walking towards the tunnel.

They take their positions on the line, and he mindlessly complies with the inspector who pets him cursorily over his kit and checks underneath his boots to make sure he isn’t hiding anything.

All of his senses should be straining towards the match before them. Every single twitch coursing throughout the fibers that make up his being should only respond to thoughts about winning. Nothing else. Every outstanding world class player whom he’s met and admired has confessed the power of having dominion over one’s thoughts and staying in the present.

Last season, after losing to Barcelona, Lionel Messi told him he doesn’t let the talk or chatter get to him.

“I just play  _fútbol_. Nothing else.” Lio told him with his characteristic detached affection before they parted to greet others after the final whistle.

He tucked this piece of advice along with the others he’s collected over the years. But tonight, no matter how hard he tries, thoughts of his father intermix themselves with his efforts think about winning.

David Luiz steps out of the line briefly to steal a glance at him and their eyes meet briefly. It’s when he sees David smiling at him that he looks away. No. He’s got enough on his mind. The last thing that needs to happen is for him to also think about David and whatever the hell it is that they’ve become.

**…**

“ _Mirame_   _a_   _los_   _ojos_ , Edi. Look at your father in the eyes and  _tell_  me you aren’t one of them.”

“ _Papá_ , I don’t know where you’re getting this idea. I’ve been married. I’ve had a number of girlfriends. I’ve fathered two sons.  _Two_   _sons!_ ”

But Luis’ boisterous, raspy voice drowns him out.

“So what? Edi you  _know_ —”

“ _Papá_ —” Edinson lowers his father’s accusatory hand out of his face and tries to speak over him but Luis imposes himself again.

“You know that doesn’t mean anything, Edi. You know there are people who live double lives and maintain an appearance. Please tell me you’re not using that poor girl—”

“With the insane workload I have do you think I can  _afford_  to expend energy to live a lie? I’m insulted we are even  _having_  this conversation!”

“It’s a yes or no question, Edi.”

Edinson quivers with waves of nervousness that sometimes give way to intermittent shards of fear. He wants to swallow but his mouth is dry, what his father interprets as hesitation. A reluctance on his part to answer in the affirmative.

Luis lets out an exasperated sigh before he speaks.

“Please swear to me  _at_   _least_ …that you’re the  _man_  in the relationship.”

“ _Papá._ I’m a Christian…don’t make me swear. Please...take my word.” He fixes his eyes on Luis. “I’m  _not_  gay.”

They hold furious eye contact for well over a minute in silence. Luis finally looks away.

“Okay. You’re not a  _puto_. Now do yourself and all of us a favor and stop  _acting_  like one.”

Edinson licks his lips.

“Where is all this coming from? Huh?”

“You’re my son, Edi. I  _know_  you. You’ve always been a soft child. Everything I’ve done was to teach you to grow up strong. I’ve worried that—”

“And that you have— _papá_. Everything there is to know about being strong and independent, I’ve learned from you.” He points to the index finger on his hand as he begins listing his counts. “I left home at sixteen. I got married at nineteen. I bought you this place,  _our_  paradise…like we used to dream of back then. I can stand on my own two feet, and care for you, for  _mamá_  and everyone I love. I try to do the right thing and I always fight back, because you taught me to never take shit from anyone.” He swallows hard as he feels a torrent of emotions welling up in his chest. “But most importantly, I try to admit my mistakes…and not  _hide_  behind excuses.”

He pauses for a moment as he scans his father’s face.

“What will it take to prove myself to you? You would think that everything I’ve done so far would be enough to make you  _happy_. It’s never enough for you, is it?”

Luis glowers before he responds,

“ _Nothing_  you’ve worked hard for will matter to you or anyone that cares about you if your reputation is  _ruined_.” Luis observes Edinson open his mouth to speak but silences him with a gesture. “Many people distanced themselves from you…from us after your affair and your marriage fell apart before the public. Imagine now, what the reaction would be if they find, or even  _suspect_  that you like  _men_.”

Edinson lets out a deep sigh of dissatisfaction.

“You still haven’t answered my question—just where are you getting this idea?” Edinson brings his fingers together in a pincer-like gesture and shakes it furiously. “Please be  _brutally_  honest as you’ve always been with me, and let’s put these rumors to an end now.”

Luis places both his hands on his waist and pulls his lips inwards as he stares him down.

“Your Saint-Germain teammate.  _David_. You can start by telling him to conduct himself in a more appropriate manner when he’s with you. Nearly every single photograph and video footage that was published where the two of you appear together.” Luis shrugs and lets out a humorless laugh. “I look at them and it’s like he’s  _bewitched_  with you.”

Edinson’s eyes widen as if his father had just applied pressure to a sprain and he clenches his teeth nervously as Luis continues speaking to him.

“We’re just really good friends,  _papá_ —” Edinson barely manages to speak before Luis raises his hand in a gesture to stay quiet.

“For him to  _act_  this way around you…you must have done something for him act this way around you.”

Edinson looks away and Luis lets his hands fall hard. They make a slapping sound as they strike against his side of his thighs.

“I didn’t want to go there Edi, but since we are on the topic—do you want to let me know if there is more to this friendship?” The word  _friendship_  rolls off Luis’ tongue as if he were trying to rid himself of a mouthful of bile.

It takes every bit of effort to not let his face or his body give away the thoughts he’s having as the tender memories of him and David together surface. He can’t deny that they happened. Their first kiss. The first time he let David touch him with reverent devotion. A consolation after they lost to Barcelona last season. The worst part of it all was that he doesn’t remember how it all started. He just knows they happened.

He wants to think that anything, no matter how slight, he’s had with a man in the past—they were efforts to make up for a kind of love he craved that he just couldn’t satisfy no matter where he looked. It didn’t matter whether it was a loving glance, or a gentle brushing of the fingers against his forearm. Any kind of affection coming from a man  _mended_  and  _fortified_  the most broken and underdeveloped parts of his being. They made up for all the years of a father he lost first to other women, and then to alcohol.

With David, it’s the first time he doesn’t take a person’s sex into account to allow himself to experience a love that feels like a soothing balm over open sores. A love that truly seems to fill all the cracks and makes one feel  _whole_. He swears it makes him unafraid and careless like the very first time one rides a bicycle without training wheels…as if he’s never been hurt before. The memory of the sensation of David’s breath, whispering his name against the nape of his neck, and the feeling of his grip around his waist from behind makes him blush, and that’s how he unwittingly gives away the truth to his father.

“I guess the cat is out of the bag.” Luis speaks with thinly veiled disgust. “And you call yourself a  _Christian?_  Lying to your own father? Do you even  _know_  how men have sex with each other?” He is barely able to finish that last sentence. He rushes through that last half in a hushed whisper, as if it were something shameful and dirty no decent person could bring themselves to speak out loud, and so openly.

Luis steps closer.

“At least…tell me that you’re the man in the relationship.”

Edinson feels his eyes dampen as if he is about to cry and his mouth starts sweating. He can’t bring himself to look at his father.

Luis’ silence feels like a burn that continues to expand on his chest. When Edinson finds it in him to look at him, he swears that despite the silence, he can read  _“Not even that, huh?”_ in his eyes.

In an instant, Luis reaches for the nearest object within reach—a glass—and it shatters against the wall making Edinson flinch. His heart valves quiver with every obsessive slam of his father’s fists against the counter before he breaks into a sob. It’s a cry that leaves Edinson shaking and afraid to breathe.

“Put an end to it Edi. Whatever it is that you two have going on. Put an end to it.”

He knows Luis is about to self-medicate with wine when he hears the cork pop open. His father’s drinking cut his childhood short. His palms would sweat when he’d hear a bottle being popped open because he knew moments later his father would be drunk again. Berta, his mother, knew about the other women. Yet his cheating was not what finally pushed her to leave him.

Edinson looks at his father’s rough, leathery hands as he begins pouring himself a glass. There are over a thousand memories and even more words that hang on his lips that beg to be spoken, but he just doesn’t have the strength to say them.

He breaks the silence.

“I thought you would quit after  _mamá_  left you.” He says as he takes the bottle from his father, and pushes his glass away from his reach. “Have you ever wondered why nobody comes to visit you anymore?” It takes everything he’s got to hold back the comments about Luis becoming an embarrassment to them all. “Christian and Nando stop by to make sure you’re not drinking to the point where you’re passed out and that you’re not living in your own filth.”

He puts the cork over the bottle and looks at his father who’s staring off into space with a frown more prominent than ever.

“The birds in the sanctuary hadn’t been fed when I arrived yesterday. Daisy looks sick and I had to call the vet. I’ve spent all morning weeding and cleaning out the yard and taking out garbage you’ve allowed to accumulate for months. And I know it’s not my business…but what the  _hell_  is your new girlfriend even doing for you? She doesn’t cook or clean. She doesn’t look after you—”

“If I haven’t laid a hand on you it’s because you’re no longer a child. But let me remind you that you still owe your father respect.”

The night doesn’t end well. Edinson calls Christian, his older brother, to pick him up. Before he leaves, he wants to impose a pre-emptive measure to help his father get back on the wagon and give up drinking. Luis has a crate of wine and an assortment of spirits in the cellar. It’s more than enough to last him for a month if he drinks in moderation. He insists in getting rid of it, something his father adamantly refuses to let him do.

He doesn’t want anything to weigh on him. Especially since he’s set to join his teammates to train for the Copa América in just a couple of days. Before he walks out, he tells his father he’ll call him to check on how he’s doing from the hotel.

“We will defend the title and add another cup.” He speaks with his characteristic serenity, hoping at least this would smooth over the hostility and resentment in the air, but the way his father looks tonight is enough to break something inside him. He doesn’t understand how someone who used to be his whole world could hate themselves so much.

He’s quick on his feet—making his way out when feels the familiar buzz of an incoming text message, and he steals a glance to look at the screen.

It’s David.

He disregards it altogether and for the first time, he wishes he’s never met David.

**…**

“Okay. Here goes.” Edinson hears Zlatan whistle to everyone as they’re making their way out of the tunnel.

He holds the boy’s hand firmly as they all walk out on the pitch, and he raises his eyes to the sky and prays aloud. And that’s how he knows he’s especially nervous tonight. He recognizes his weakness before God, and prays for angels to guide his feet. He has reached the limits of what he can do, and he doesn’t believe in luck. He believes in God and in the promises the Bible contains. And tonight, he is praying for God to be his strength.

_In good times, and in bad times—always remember to thank God._

It was a phrase that never left him since he’s started his professional career. It was a phrase that he picked up from Kaká, one of his first mentors when he began taking his first steps in the Christian faith.

His hands never felt heavier when he made himself raise them in a gesture of thanks to God after he got a phone call from his brother, telling him about his father’s arrest. Uruguay was set to play with Chile in the Copa América quarterfinals later that day and the night before, his truck—not his father’s—but  _his_  truck had been in an accident that killed a nineteen-year old boy. And the person behind the wheel was his father, who had gone out driving while drunk.

**…**

Oscar Tabárez approaches him with his limp that has become increasingly more noticeable in the last months. Everyone had been urging him to get a hip replacement, but  _El_   _Maestro_  refused time and time again to go under the knife. Edinson doesn’t know how his face doesn’t contort with pain, and it’s then he remembers that Tabárez is an old timer. He played  _fútbol_ when everything was so much harder then. Behind Tabárez’s rigid stoicism, Edinson can see nothing but compassion welling for him in his piercing stare, and he feels the pain and confusion diminish just a little when  _El_   _Maestro_  presses a hand over his shoulder.

“My boy…I can’t even begin to imagine what you and your family must be going through.” His eyes narrow in a condolent manner. “I’m so sorry.”

His father’s accident and subsequent arrest made the news and  _El_   _Maestro_  was asked whether he would be putting  _El_   _Matador_  in the starting eleven later that day.

“You’re free to decide if you’re fit to play. I leave it in your hands.” Tabárez says with a gentle squeeze to his arm.

Before he turned off his phone for the remainder of the day, he spoke briefly with his mother:

“Edi, you  _have_  to play. What happened with Luis…it’s not your problem. He did this to himself, and he will deal with his own mess. I can’t say it enough. It’s  _his_  mess. Not yours.”

He feels the pit in his stomach. The uncertainty of what would happen now with his father has left him speechless. He has no idea what to respond.

“Are you there, Edi?”

“ _Sí_.  _Sí_   _mamá_.” He whispers.

“You have full support from all of us. Uruguay needs you tonight. You’re strong,  _pichón_. You always have been.  _Te_   _quiero_   _mucho_.”

He brings his fingers to his mouth as he presses a kiss to her over the phone before he ends the call. He throws himself back on the bed in his hotel room and he can feel every heartbeat making his body shake.

He brings his awareness to the present moment with _El_ _Maestro_ , and he doesn’t think twice about his decision.

“I’ll play.”

**…**

It’s only a little over fifteen minutes after half-time when Gonzalo Jara runs up to him.

“It’s confirmed. I heard they’re going to give your old man twenty years.” He calls out.

“That’s not true.” Edinson places his hands on his waist, and he feels Gary Medel of Chile grab his arm forcefully pulling him away from Gonzalo.

“You poor thing.” Gonzalo pats his face facetiously as if mimicking a consoling gesture.

Edinson forces himself to smile. He doesn’t want to give this imp of a player the reaction he’s looking for.

Not even moments later as he’s positioning himself back into the game, he feels Gonzalo stealthily approach him from behind.

“I can see your father become someone’s prison bitch.  _Mmmmmm_ —taking a nice fat cock up his ass—”

“Shut up.” Edinson swats Gonzalo’s jaw as he feels the defender’s probing, unwelcome fingers part the cleft of his behind, barely grazing over his hole over the fabric of his kit.

Gonzalo throws himself on the lawn holding his face and seconds later, Edinson is shown a yellow card. His mouth goes dry and his jaw drops reflexively. He tugs on the fabric of his shorts, wedged in between his cheeks and raises an arm in protest.

_Did nobody see what Gonzalo had done to him?_

He wants to reason with the referee. He wants to explain what just happened, but he turns away from him. Edinson isn’t discouraged. He continues to search for his eyes, and plead for justice. He doesn’t deserve this yellow card. He  _can’t_  get another yellow card. Uruguay needs him. It’s always hard to play one man down, and he owes it to his teammates to see the situation rectified.

A red card is raised high—for all to see—and Edinson feels an effervescent rage consume him.

He goes off and hurls a string of insults. He swears if it weren’t for his teammates, he would have left Gonzalo with serious injuries. The most he can manage is to send a sweeping dropkick that barely grazes him. He breaks free and runs back to the referee. No. It is unfair. He can’t be sent off like this.

In a short amount of time, his teammates run to peel him away from the referee before he makes the situation worse for himself. He curses the ref out, calling him a son of a whore. He is drenched in sweat, and the heat of all the bodies rubbing and colliding against him, and arms restraining him make him angrier.

Diego Godín, Maxi Pereira and Christian Rodríguez hold him down and yell at the Chilean players to back off as they see that Edinson is showing no signs of calming down.

One of the Chileans manages to throw his arm around Edinson’s neck. Fingernails digging into the skin of his jawline:

“Take the goddamn red card and walk off, _bitch_.”

Other murmurs crop up:

“Stop wasting time! Fucking Uruguayans. Always gotta play dirty.”

“I hope they put your father away for life.”

“Can you just leave the pitch already? You whiny cunt.”

“Edi, there’s nothing you can do. Maybe this is God’s way of giving you a break so you can be there for your father.” Christian speaks into his ear while keeping his eyes open to the chaos surrounding them while holding onto him. “Thanks for everything you’ve done so far. We’ll take it from here.”

It’s only then than he resigns himself to accept the unfair booking. As he walks off, he dries his face with the hem of his kit.

Life, like football, is sometimes unfair.

**…**

“You know Edi, I’m really starting to believe that things happen for a reason. If I hadn’t been issued a ban, I would have killed the degenerate fuck.” Luis speaks to him over the phone, and Edinson hears Luis covering his phone’s mouthpiece when his daughter call out to him. “ _Delfina, ahora no. Papá esta hablando por teléfono, querida._ ”

A small smile spreads on Edinson’s face. He remembers the days when he and Luis were just boys and they’d talk about girls in the dressing room. He found it amusing to experience glimpses of Luis, husband and father. It was such a different Luis to the one he knew then.

“What was I saying? Yeah, the same asshole grabbed my nutsack and I punched him right back. It’s not the first time he does shit like this. He doesn’t deserve to represent his country.”

“Don’t even get me started,  _Luisito_. The whole thing is just something I want to forget.”

“No matter what happens with Uruguay. Remember we have fifteen cups.  _Fifteen_. They got nothing on us.” Luis raises his voice to drive his point. “If we lose, it’s not your fault. In the end, you know it’s a team effort.”

What Edinson couldn’t do back then because of the uproar and the confusion, he is able to do now in the privacy of his hotel room, and the tears start gushing. They’re not tears of sadness. They’re tears of anger. Of helplessness. A hiccup sob escapes him to his embarrassment. And that’s when he hears Luis speak to him after a moment of tense silence between them.

“Edi, I’m not really good with feelings and stuff. For that I can put my Sofi on the phone.” He says in a sullen chuckle. “But if there’s anything else I can do to help…you know I’m here for you.”

**…**

Seeing his father dressed like an inmate for the first time drains him nearly of all courage, and for a moment, he thinks he won’t be able to sit down and talk to him. He is running on two hours of sleep, and his eyes are still slightly swollen. The only thing that keeps him going is the look on his father’s face, and thinking that he’s probably more afraid and run down than he is.

It’s jarring. To see his father.  _In_   _prison_. No matter what the world was saying, Luis “ _El_   _Gringo_ ” Cavani is not a criminal. He doesn’t belong there with the rest. It takes this experience, of seeing his father as an inmate to recognize that Luis, as strong and willful as he’s shown himself to be, was a man who was suffering so much on the inside. He wants to believe this was his way of foregoing his pride and crying for help, and he just had to do it in the most self-destructive manner.

They have many issues left unresolved, but what his father needs more than anything right now is to feel accompanied in his pain. Like someone was walking beside him in the unfolding uncertainty.

He finds it in him to rescue everything that is lovable and beautiful about his father and his mind searches as far back as he can to his childhood memories. That’s how he wants to remember his father always. This is the father he wants to rescue.

He greets Luis in his usual, soft-spoken voice and he makes himself smile. They very briefly discuss the match, and the turn of events before Edinson interjects.

“Remember when you took me hunting when I was twelve?” He raises his eyes and he has to pinch the inside of his arm to keep himself from crying when he sees his father’s eyes welling up with tears.

“I wanted to make you so proud,  _papá_. I was so excited to show you all the fish I had caught, I forgot to secure the boat to shore.”

He reaches his hand out to hold his father’s hand.

“I wanted to turn back the clock. Knowing I had disappointed you and putting you through all that trouble of getting our boat back to shore…I was burning with shame.” He lowers his eyes as he plays back the memory in his head. “But you didn’t say a word to me.”

He raises his eyes to look at his father.

“I never realized silence can be that powerful…and say so much.”

The guard announces that visitation hours are over and Edinson squeezes his father’s hand.

“I’ve rented out a small place close by, so I can come visit you every day until I have to go back to Paris.” He says as he gets up. “We’ll get through this  _papá_.”

**…**

They make a fast break, and Zlatan chips the ball to Edinson which he drives straight to the back of the net with a stunning header. It’s when he slaps Angel Di Maria a high five that the feeling sets in. He spreads his arms out wide and flaps them as if he were a bird on the pitch, wearing his smile as he feels a liberating joy pulsing through him.

Forget that he is passionate about birds. It’s a goal celebration dedicated to his father. And he can’t help but let out a bellow of rage. It feels like in that singular moment, all the injustices were rectified. His father was a free man. And he scored a goal. Except it’s more than a goal. It feels like a sign from heaven. A promise that maybe this would be the year Paris could advance like never before in the UEFA Champions League.

One by one, they run to him.

Marco Verratti. Thiago Motta. Thiago Silva. They embrace to share the moment. He affectionately pats Marquinhos’ face before he turns in search of the cameras. He points with both hands, shaking with rage and emotion as he mouths into the camera,

“ _¡Para vos, papá! ¡Para vos!_ _¡Para vos!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Some parts of this story are anchored in true events. For example: Cavani did have a brief, extra-marital affair that ended his marriage to Soledad Cabris, the mother of his two children. And this did tarnish his reputation and image. Cavani is a devout Christian, and Ricardo Kaká was a mentor of his. Luis Cavani's drunk driving accident that killed a 19 year old boy, and got him 3 months of jail time is what threw Cavani off during the 2015 Copa América, and it was rumored that El Maestro would not let Cavani play due to the psychological distress. The Copa América and the fingering incident in the second half of the Uruguay vs Chile match, and the Champions League fixure/PSG vs Malmö FF match--they happened. These are all true and are verifiable, published news stories, and some even have video footage.  
> That being said, there are A LOT of fictional and made up elements. Such as the dialogues, and the thoughts Cavani’s character is having. The relationship between Cavani and David Luiz is confabulated (though the two reportedly were inseparably close friends while David Luiz was at PSG). Luis Cavani’s alcoholism is exaggerated and the tensions that strain his relationship with his son are also made up. What is written here regarding his relationship with his family members is all speculative and made up. They’re included to add more punch to the unfolding drama. In short, please read this as if it were a work of fiction.
> 
> Thank you for reading this piece. If you enjoyed, please leave kudos or comment below.


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